


The songs you grow to like, never stick at first

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-21
Updated: 2007-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort is not alive; James and Lily are. The Malfoys and Potters still don't get along because... well, just because. So Harry and Draco grow up as rivals and still go to Hogwarts. To his bemusement, Harry starts to fall for Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The songs you grow to like, never stick at first

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: [](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/profile)[**serpentinelion**](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/) 's [Secrets and Wishes Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/serpentinelion/96784.html) for [](http://best-of-five.livejournal.com/profile)[**best_of_five**](http://best-of-five.livejournal.com/).
> 
>  **Beta:** [](http://winnettfics.livejournal.com/profile)[**winnettfics**](http://winnettfics.livejournal.com/) , who is amazingly patient. An earlier version had been read by [](http://mirrorwakes.livejournal.com/profile)[**mirrorwakes**](http://mirrorwakes.livejournal.com/) , who is also made of awesome.  
> Title and lyrics (not in any order) are taken from the song _Dead on Arrival_ , by Fall Out Boy.

  
**1).**   
_This is side one, flip me over; I know I’m not your favourite record._   


“Harry.” Hermione blinked at him, frizzy curls almost on end like an angry Kneazle’s and Harry ran an irritated hand through his own hair, just to make sure that it was as messy as usual. Beside him, Ron snored delicately into the middle of his text-book. “Harry, are you studying? Or are you staring into space again?”

“I’m _not_ staring into space,” he muttered at her defensively, because he wasn’t, truly. What he _was_ doing was watching Draco Malfoy, who was about six tables away in the quiet library, one hand tucking a fine lock of blond hair behind his ear. Malfoy was grinning (grinning!) smugly at some seventh-year Ravenclaw boy, who was perched very close to him, straddling a chair and resting his elbows on the back of it.

Malfoy had a nice smile. The sharpness inherent in his face became pixie-like and his eyes took on a mischievous glint that was very… captivating. This was not the first time Harry noticed it, in all of his five years at Hogwarts, even though Malfoy only ever glared in his general direction. As a rule, Malfoys and Potters didn’t really mix. Harry thought that this may be derived from one disastrous episode at some Ministry party when he was younger, about four or five years old. Fists and hexes had flown; his father had given Lucius Malfoy a lovely black eye and Lucius had broken James’ glasses. It was all over _nothing_ , his Mum had fumed as she Apparated home with an excitable Harry, leaving James to discuss the damages to the imported carpets in the Tiamat Meeting Room with Malfoy and the Aurors.

The _Daily Prophet_ had had a field day: _two_ upper-level Ministry representatives scrapping it out like schoolboys. Harry remembered that Uncle Sirius had been secretly proud, while Uncle Remus (he simply _must_ remember that it’s _Professor Lupin_ while they’re in school) had taken his mum’s side, berating his father in that quiet implacable manner of his.

“All I know,” James had said sourly at the time, restoring his glasses with a hasty _Reparo_ when he got home, “Is that there is no such thing as a decent Malfoy.”

Gazing at Draco hiding a sly laugh behind a slender palm, Harry pondered that he might have to revise that opinion.

  


  
**2).**   
_So I’m writing you a chorus and here is your verse._   


Most Thursday evenings, right after Quidditch practice, Harry would sit down in his bed, thick pillows comfortable against his back, to send a few letters home. Sometimes he wrote one for both his parents, but to save his mother’s brain he might pen a separate one for his father. This one would invariably contain some discussion about international Quidditch and local leagues; for good measure, just to make sure his father didn’t forget, he might throw in some smug reference to being made Seeker much younger than his dad. His father’s reply would hold some childish variation of: _SO WHAT. FOR I AM STILL GREATER. House Quidditch Cup SIX times running, I dare you to beat that_. Harry thought his father was crazy if he believed that record won’t get run into the ground. He loved him, though.

The letter for his mother might be something along the lines of: _Yes_ , he’s revising his Charms notes at every turn, even though he’s sure he might be allergic to History of Magic, as in, _severely_. No, he’s not failing Potions but he’ll never be a favourite of Professor Snape so let’s leave it there; and no, he hasn’t broken his neck in Quidditch as yet.

He would try to write short foolish notes to his brother and sister. Rosemarie, who was prim and studious and certainly destined for Ravenclaw next year, mostly wrote notes to pass on to Hermione, who gave Rosemarie her first _Hogwarts: A History_ book as a birthday present two months ago. Rosie read it all in about a week.

His little brother Stephen had a habit of sending messy drawings with smudges all over the parchment and in his responses, Harry sent little doodles of his own and charmed them to move when Stephen touched them. Sometimes, Stephen could be annoying and he got into Harry’s things during holiday time and told their mum that Harry wouldn’t let him borrow the Firebolt; he just made Harry want to tear at his hair and rage; but at school, Harry missed Stephen a lot. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

That particular Thursday night, when he gave Hedwig his letters and a treat, he wondered what his father would think if he wrote that he had just the tiniest crush on Draco Malfoy. Just a very small one.

His father would probably send him at least four Howlers.

Harry felt a little upset, for some reason, so he went into the common room and told Ron he was going to see Professor Lupin. Before Lupin took up the post of Defensive Magic, it had been mostly theory. Uncle— _Professor_ Lupin had put in more practical lessons and because Harry was the sort of person who understood best through action, Defensive Magic had become his most favourite subject.

He reached the classroom, dodging Peeves in one corridor and of course, Professor Lupin was there, peering at layers of parchment with a slightly bemused air. His amber gaze fixed on Harry, who thought the professor looked more overjoyed at getting a break from marking papers than actually seeing him.

“Harry. Come in.” Professor Lupin nearly always spoke in a low calm voice. Once, Harry had heard him become extremely annoyed at a student and although the tone of his speech never got any louder, a hint of a growl threaded in the words had caused the troublemaker to cease his activities.

“Hi. Busy?” Harry returned the warm smile as he walked past the desks, dragging a chair to sit right in front of the professor. Remus shook his head and with a flick of his wand, the pile flattened into a single sheaf.

“Not really. What can I help you with?”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, at a loss for words. He always trusted Remus but inexplicably, _this_ was particularly hard to get out. He looked at the professor’s waiting expression and squirmed. Remus’ nostrils flared delicately and then he gave a reassuring small smile, adjusting the sleeve of his dark robes; Harry inhaled deeply and forged ahead.

“Yeah. So… there’s this person. Who I…like. Maybe a lot, but it wouldn’t go down well with Dad.”

Remus’ placid face took on a slight frown and he shifted in his seat with an unusual show of unease.

“Well, Harry. Hmmm. Err… It’s only natural to develop somewhat of a … crush on one’s professor, but I’ve watched you grow up and--”

“Ok, no,” Harry laughed nervously, feeling his face flush red as he tugged at the ends of his hair. “Wait, wait. Not you. Oh, Merlin.” He stopped giggling at Remus’ affronted glare. “Not that you aren’t crushable! It’s a… person. In my year.”

“A _person_ ,” Remus repeated slowly. “A boy?”

Harry blushed even more and looked at the floor, nodding.

“Oh. Well. Relationships like those are fairly common in the Wizarding world, so James will get over it,” Remus said, a little too airily for Harry’s taste. “And Lily is very open-minded, so--"

“Dad _still_ wouldn’t like it,” Harry stressed. “No, let me rephrase that. Dad would _hate_ even the thought of it.”

“But you like him,” Remus said firmly. “That’s the important thing. James will have to live with it when he finds out.”

“ _If_ Dad finds out. I mean, so I like him, but we haven’t exactly been friendly. So maybe there won’t _be_ anything to find out.” Really, Harry didn’t mean to sound so forlorn. Damn these teenage hormones. Remus was looking at him with dawning comprehension and if Harry thought he couldn't get any redder, he was deeply mistaken.

“You can try being nicer to him?” Remus finally suggested, his eyes gleaming. Harry groaned and slouched in the seat. “Maybe not get into as much screaming matches in the corridors.”

“I _never_ start those, by the way. He’s a git 95% of the time--“

“And yet there must be something about him that appeals to you.”

“It must be his sneaky nature,” Harry said under his breath and Remus chose to ignore this.

“First, you have to gain his interest, see what he likes,” Remus said, warming to the subject. He pulled at the collar of his robes, which were a little old but well cared for. “So you can know if you want to spend more time with him.”

Harry snorted. “He likes annoying me, so that’s a start.”

Remus smiled, showing his long canines.

“There you have it, then. Off you go!”

  


  
**3).**   
_A rivalry goes so deep  
Between me and this loss of sleep over you._   


“Um. What are you doing?” Ron said in a slightly high-pitched voice as Harry got up with determination and headed off to where Malfoy sat with Crabbe and Goyle, near a window to the back of the library. “Harry!”

“Just…. I don’t even know,” Harry responded a little blankly. “But it was nice being your friend, really. If I come back in pieces, tell my mother I loved her.”

“I think he’s been inhaling too much broom-polish,” Ron whispered to Seamus.

Malfoy was sitting right between his two hulking bodyguards, one finger pointing at a shaky line in Crabbe’s notes. He looked up as Harry stood beside the table and his eyes narrowed.

“Potter. You’re blocking the light.”

“Malfoy, I’m not even _standing_ in the light. And it’s still daytime.”

“Goes to show just how extremely thick you are, doesn’t it?” Malfoy stared at him incredulously as Harry stood his ground, folding his arms. “Hello? Why are you still here? Wait, better question: Why haven’t I hexed you as yet?”

“I wanted to talk to you. You know… get to know you a little.”

Malfoy actually looked around himself to see who Harry was referring to. He exchanged glances with Crabbe, then Goyle and then blinked at Harry.

“You... alright, you’re talking to Draco Malfoy here. I’m just clarifying that.”

“Yes. I know.”

“The person who pushed you into a puddle of mud last Thursday.”

“I didn’t forget about the mud. I still have to pay you back on that one.” Harry gave a faint smile and Malfoy looked highly suspicious.

“I also poured pumpkin juice into your bookbag yesterday--“

“I _knew_ that was you, you slimy bastard!” Harry interjected with very little heat.

“--and _also_ , am handsomer and smarter than you will ever dream to be.” Malfoy gave him a challenging grin, full of bright malice; Harry took a deep breath, wondering why he even bothered.

“You’re not smarter than me. You’re just better at cheating.”

Harry thought that Malfoy looked fairly good when he was flabbergasted; and he could actually see the little wheels in that blond head turning, latching on that realisation that Harry had not refuted the handsome part.

“I think he’s been poisoned, which is excellent,” Malfoy muttered to his goons, who nodded sagely. “It’s either that or he’s been at the broom-polish.”

“Look,” Harry sighed, moving one of his folded arms to pinch at the bridge of his nose underneath the frame of his glasses. “I just came over to here to talk and maybe get over all these years of combat--"

“You have a few disagreements and everyone calls it a war,” Malfoy muttered.

“--but if you’re afraid to have a private, polite conversation with me, I understand. Really. I promise not to tell anyone about how you're afraid to talk to me.”

Harry didn’t battle with Malfoy all this time to not learn even a little bit about him; if it was one thing Malfoy couldn’t resist, it was a challenge, especially one thrown down by Harry Potter. Malfoy’s eyes flashed and he made a dismissive motion with one hand. Crabbe and Goyle got up, glaring at Harry as they lumbered past him. That same pale hand made a sweeping gesture at one of the vacated chairs and Harry sank into it.

“Why, hello,” Malfoy said with stilted grace. He held out his hand and Harry shook it with caution, feeling the bones of those cool elegant fingers against his sweaty palm. “Draco Malfoy. It’s a… it’s not really a pleasure, don’t make me lie.”

“Harry Potter. Well, I think it’s a pleasure. Or it will be, maybe.”

Draco blinked at him as he pulled his hand away.

“Potter, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you’re flirting. It sounds even viler when I say it out loud. You’re a horrid flirt, by the way. Sluttish, even.”

“Do you ever wonder why we fight so much?” Harry said abruptly, before Draco could delve any deeper into his flirting routines. “I mean, our fathers hate each other and everything, but it’s not like we have to. It isn’t written down somewhere.”

“I like traditions, Potter,” Draco said, with a tiny snarl. Harry thought he was doomed if he thought that the sound was as cute as a kitten. “If my family hates your family, it’s really something to be upheld.”

Harry looked away and considered his friends giving him despairing looks from across the room. Actually, Hermione looked a little more concerned that precious study-time was being lost and Ron looked ready to storm over. Maybe he was wasting his time with Malfoy; he should probably go back to people who didn’t attempt to bruise his ego every four minutes.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” he said in a quiet tone, trying to channel Uncle Remus. “I mean, you do things that drive me crazy, but at least it keeps life interesting. You’re vain and you insult my friends and sometimes you say the funniest things but I have brawl with you because it’s nearly always awful. But I figure that you could be nice if you wanted to.”

“Perish the thought,” Malfoy replied flatly. “I don’t know the meaning of the word _nice_.”

Harry actually chuckled and the corner of Malfoy’s thin mouth quirked up in reaction before he straightened it firmly and gave Harry a frown. Harry sighed and got up.

“Alright, fine. But I see how you act around your Slytherins. Maybe not nice, but caring.” Harry didn’t even repress his smile at Malfoy’s scandalised stare. “Your secret is safe with me… and this was pleasant. See? We didn’t strangle each other at all.”

“Don’t think I wasn’t considering it,” Malfoy snapped and Harry shook his head, smile fading.

“It was worth the shot, I guess.” He walked backwards a little and then stopped. “At least, for me.”

He turned and tried not to run back to his table, feeling Malfoy’s nonplussed stare on his back.

  


  
**4).**   
_No, it's not the last time; cause I'd never say no to you;  
this conversation's still dead on arrival..._   


  
Harry was walking with Hermione to Hogsmeade, Ron laughing ahead of them with Neville and Dean. Hermione had her hand threaded companionably through his arm and from time to time, she would rest her head on his shoulder. Ron glanced back at them once and grinned sharply, uncertainly. Harry’s laugh was low.

“Said anything to you as yet about the party last week?”

Hermione huffed, her arm tightening in his.

“It was just one kiss,” she grumbled, “and he’s acting like I’ve asked him to get married. Boys are so very stupid.”

Harry nodded as they continued along the path. They weren’t the only ones dressed in jeans, but only Harry and Hermione had on t-shirts, Harry’s a fairly new dark-brown one his mother had sent, that Hermione had bullied him into wearing. He had even put on those jeans that didn’t hang off too much on his lanky frame. Hermione had declared that it was a nice effect, causing Ron to roll his eyes.

“Has _he_ said anything _you_ as yet?” Hermione asked, patting Harry’s forearm. Harry grunted, wondering how much of the school knew about him trying to talk to Draco Malfoy. Considering that students preferred to gossip than study, he wouldn’t be surprised if even the professors started to look at him askance. At least they didn’t realise what he had been angling for yet.

“No.” Harry felt proud of his firm tone. “And it doesn’t matter, really.”

He was going to say something else when Ron turned around and jogged back to them.

“You’ve got a visitor, mate,” he said to Harry and then pulled at Hermione’s other arm in a fit of gallantry. “I’ll just take this lovely lady off your hands.”

“Boys!” Hermione said with a wry smile, allowing herself to be dragged off, leaving Harry standing in front of a small bush. A black nose poked between thick green leaves and huffed at him imperatively; Harry rolled his eyes and stepped behind the bush to see Sirius melting out of his dog-form and looking at him with wild eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” Harry mused.

“So I was on my way, right?” Sirius said without preamble. “And I decided to drop in and tell Remus that I was off and he tells me that…that…” Sirius gasped and fell against a tree. He was always one for melodramatics, Harry thought dryly. “Oh, my Merlin. Your father is going to _freak_.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry hedged, idly snapping small branches off the nearby bush. Sirius gaped at him. “I mean, it’s not going to go anywhere, I guess.”

"Not a big--!” Sirius breathed deep and then tried again. “Just… Why Draco Malfoy?"

Harry bit the inside of his bottom lip and pondered.

"It's like this song you always hear, you know?" Harry finally said. "You think you hate it because you're not quite sure what you like, anyway. One day you find that you know all the bloody words, you can't get it out of your head... and you don't mind that at _all_."

Sirius still looked pained.

“On behalf of James, I forbid it,” he said darkly and Harry opened his mouth to scoff at him.

“Potter!” A voice came from nearby, startling them both. “I had to _talk_ to Weasley to find out where you are. You owe me, so very much. What are you doing in there? Actually, I’m not sure I want to know.”

Harry exchanged a shocked glance with Sirius, who was in his Animagus-form right before Malfoy pushed through the foliage and glared at him.

Harry smiled weakly, taking in Draco’s clothes. He was wearing a cloak over his dark trousers, even though the spring evening was fairly warm, paired with long-sleeved shirt. Harry tried not to concentrate on the way the dark-green material contrasted quite nicely with the pale skin at his wrists.

“Is that _your_ dog?” Draco asked, eyeing Sirius. A low growl emanated from the shaggy black throat of his godfather and Harry shushed him hurriedly.

“Yeah. Um, he came here to visit me.”

“Potter, you live miles away from here.”

“He’s a very dedicated pet,” Harry explained and Sirius gave him a canine glower. “So. What do you want?”

Draco licked his lips and fiddled with the collar of his cloak. Harry watched him blush and felt entranced.

“Look, Potter. _Harry_ ,” Draco said carefully and Harry kept his jaw locked tight in case it fell open to the ground. “You’re really mad to try and change years of amazing rivalry. I’m pureblood and you’re not, which is really too bad for you. I’m amazing and you’re only ordinary, which is just the way of the world.”

Harry snorted at this. Really, Malfoy was full of himself and it was not too disconcerting to find that he was a little tickled by it; when Draco spoke like that, it had a sort of cynical air to it that appealed to Harry. To his surprise, Malfoy’s smile crooked into existence; and this time, he did not try to smother it.

“That being said… let’s try and be civil, then. Friends even, whatever.” Malfoy was considering him with eyes tinged green by their surroundings. A gleeful look stole over his face. “My father is going to go _mad_ …although my mother won’t mind so much.”

“Same here,” Harry said, ignoring the woeful look on Sirius’ doggy-face. “Maybe one day… we can move on to more than civil?” He winked at Draco, who looked shocked and then slyly contemplative.

“Potter,” he replied. “You are such a horrible flirt. You’re very lucky I like that.”

He spun on one booted heel and trampled out of the fringe of forest. Harry hesitated, then grinned at Sirius and followed him out.

As he walked quickly to catch up with Draco, he heard annoyed barking coming from behind them and laughed out loud.


End file.
